


The direct approach

by unicarna



Category: Person of Interest (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: A lot of sex, Crossover, F/F, Person of Interest AU, accidental feelings, secrecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicarna/pseuds/unicarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoe Morgan meets Raven at a bar and starts to suspect that the secretive woman is there for other reasons than getting a drink. But it’s hard to figure things out when Raven is so damn distracting…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You take a seat at the bar you’ve probably visited a few times too many in the past weeks, and order a drink. You’ve had one hell of a day, and not in a good way. Sometimes your clients are complacent assholes. No, scratch that, your clients are almost always complacent assholes. But you usually know exactly how to deal with them – that’s the main reason you’re so good at your job. But today has just been too much and you need a distraction to smooth things over. You aren’t looking for sex, necessarily, in fact, you think you would like an intelligent conversation even better. You are more likely to find the former in this place, though, you think, as you smoothly reject the advances of a man reeking of alcohol.

Your eyes absently scan the opposite side of the circular bar. Seated there among the usual crowd is a young woman with dark hair and red lips, wearing an elegant black dress. She’s sitting much like you are; legs crossed, sipping a drink, ignoring the men and women approaching her. But unlike yourself, this woman doesn’t even give her suitors a glance and you’re amused by the way their faces fall as their worked up courage leaves them in a defeated breath of air at the lack of response. Still, they keep coming, trying their luck, and you keep watching, entertained.

You sip your drink thoughtfully and catch yourself trailing your eyes over the woman’s neckline, cleavage and toned arms.

You recognise the pull in your stomach at the sight, the feeling unexpected but not unwelcome.

Just when you’re about to finish your drink, the bartender comes over with a new one. At your questioning gaze, he says,

“Compliments of the woman over there. She said, and I quote, that you’ll need another drink if you plan to watch her all night.”

You chuckle. “Did she now.”

He grins at you before turning to another customer.

With renewed interest, you look over and meet her eyes. She raises her glass, a knowing smirk on her lips.

You nod at her.

This is new.

By the time you finish the second drink, you’ve gathered enough courage to get up, a pleasant buzz running through your veins. You feel the woman’s eyes on you as you walk over.

“This seat taken?”

She replies offhandedly, “That depends.”

You raise your eyebrows.

That’s new too.

You step closer and lean into the woman’s personal space, determined to shake her up a bit as you purr,

“Depends on what?”

The woman meets your eyes steadily for a long time, and you feel yourself getting the tiniest bit flustered. Apparently two can play this game.

Finally the woman says, in a conversational tone,

“If you’re ready for me to fuck you all night”.

Your mind goes blank, desire flaring hot and low in your belly.

This is  _definitely_  new.

But you’re not one to back away from a challenge. Clearing your throat and pulling back a little, you deliberately trail your eyes down the woman’s gorgeous body before raising an eyebrow.

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine. But first, let’s talk.” The woman pats the chair next to her.

You are momentarily thrown off balance again. How interesting.

You sit down and accept another drink from the bartender. “I’m Zoe.”

”Zoe Morgan. I know who you are.”

You cover your surprise with a sip of your drink.

”Have we met?”

”Not formally. But we move in the same circles sometimes.”

You mull this over, concluding you’ve never seen the woman before. _(You would have remembered the expressive brown eyes and inviting lips)._

”Well it’s a good thing I tend to make friends instead of enemies, or I’d be worried I was about to sleep with one.”

You only half-joke. Spending time with Reese and Harold have made you more cautious than you would like to admit, especially to them.

The woman’s lips curl into an easy smile. ”Believe me, you’d know if I was your enemy.”

You steal a look at her. She clearly isn’t joking.

”I’m Raven by the way.”

She holds out her hand for a formal handshake. You look deep into her eyes when you take it and feel a pang of triumph when she looks a little breathless.

“Nice to meet you, Raven.” You like the name, it suits her.

You sip your drinks in silence for a while, before you speak up again.

“So, do you always clarify your intentions quite so…explicitly?”

She nods. “Yes. I don’t like wasting my time.”

“Hmm.”

“Rumour has it you’re similar in that respect”, Raven continues.

“Oh I am”, you confirm. “But perhaps not quite as straight forward.”

“It has never failed me”, she states casually.

You look over at her, letting out your breath in a small laugh at the refreshing confidence of the younger woman.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to hear that”, you reply playfully.

Raven smiles.

Yes, this is definitely new.

* * *

Raven is trailing her fingers over your thigh, feather-light, and even though the touch is barely there it sends shots of electricity through your skin, jumbling your thoughts. You can tell that she’s well aware of this from the smug smile playing on her lips. You grit your teeth, trying to get yourself together. You’re used to having the upper hand and this feels dangerously close to losing control.

“Tell me, what do you do exactly?”

Ravens hums. “Soon, I plan to do you.”

You roll your eyes. “For work, Raven.”

She chuckles and you’re pretty sure she’s enjoying this way too much.

“I’m a planner of sorts. Organiser. A doer, too, sometimes.”

“That’s terribly unspecific.”

She pauses.

“Since we have a certain…overlap in clientèle, I’d rather not say exactly what I do. Secrets of the trade, you know.”

You ‘hmm’ at her again but you can’t really be bothered to dig deeper because she’s stroking you more firmly now, her hand fully on your thigh, moving in circles upwards, inwards.

You clear your throat. “Have we talked enough yet?”

She smiles devilishly. “Impatient, huh? I like that. I’d rather stay a while longer, though, if you don’t mind.”

She pulls out her phone from her purse and checks it before putting it back.

You frown. “Are you waiting for something?”

“Nothing important. Now tell me, what would you like me to do to you later?”

She says it like it doesn’t give you a thousand mental images of her naked skin on yours and you swallow, almost feeling out of your depth. But damned if you’ll let this… _girl…_ reduce you to a stuttering mess.

“I’m not sure I’ll let  _you_  do anything to  _me._ ”

She laughs in response and you’d be offended if you weren’t so damn turned on. “Really, Zoe, if the way you’re squirming right now is any indication I’m pretty sure you’re gonna let me do a lot of things to you.”

You bite back your initial response and lean towards her instead, breath ghosting over her cheek and whispering sweetly in her ear,

“What I want you to do is lie back with your hands tied while I fuck you.”

She tries to hide the sharp breath she draws in but you can hear it and you feel something like satisfaction spreading in your chest.

“Touché”, she mumbles and you pull back, reaching for your glass.

You are aching to get out of here but at the same time, this back and forth fills you with anticipation in the most delicious way.

“So what else do people say about me?”

Her hand resumes the slow circles on your thigh and you close your eyes briefly.

“That you’ll fix anything.”

You smile, “True.”

Your hand comes up to rest on her back, just where her dress dips low to reveal naked skin. You ghost your fingers over her spine and her hand stills on your thigh, lips parting in a silent moan.

You feel almost delirious, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Emboldened by the response, you lean over and kiss her neck softly. Just as her hand sneaks around your waist and she’s turning her head, about to capture your lips, her phone beeps.

She stills, “I have to check that.”

You pull back, mind slowly kicking back into gear and you wonder why exactly she’s here tonight.

But when she puts the phone away again after typing a quick response, smiles suggestively at you and says, “Wanna get out of here?”, you can’t come up with a single reason as to why that matters.

* * *

Your breathing hitches as Raven's hand moves slowly from your knee to your thigh, coming to rest just under the hem of your dress. She teases at the sensitive skin there, and you can hear her smile in the darkness. She leans in closer and kisses your neck as the bustling streets of Manhattan pass by outside. You swallow as her hand moves even higher until it finally brushes the edge of your panties, the touch a promise of more lingering ones to come. She bites at your neck then and you can't help the groan that leaves your throat.

You're soaking wet and you haven't even arrived at her place yet.

Trying to regain some semblance of control, you grab her hand and pull it away from you, immediately missing the contact. You turn your body towards hers and reach out to caress her hip, up along her side, ghosting over a breast and coming to rest on the back of her neck. You pull slightly at her silky hair as you lean in, your lips almost touching as you whisper, “I want you”. She darts forward and you're suddenly kissing like horny teenagers in the back of the cab, grabbing at each other's bodies in an attempt at _more_ and you're probably way too old to act like this.

You couldn't care less.

* * *

When you arrive at her building, she holds the door open for you and you walk through it to find an elegant stairwell, its chequered floor and pleasant lightning a sharp contrast to the graffiti on the outside wall. You are surprised to end up in this particular part of town, having expected a classier neighbourhood. But the beautiful interior challenges your prejudice, and you pass several artworks hanging on the walls when you follow her up the stairs. She is quiet now, and you don't mind spending your time watching the way the dress clings to her curves.

Damn, it's been too long since you were with a woman.

You enter her apartment and immediately notices the lack of personal items and the almost hotel-like furnishings.

“You don't live here”, you state.

“No. I use it sometimes for work.”

At the confused look on your face, she continues,

“For meetings.”

“I see”, you say, even though you don't.

You walk across the spacious living room and take a look at the view. Outside is a smaller street than the one you entered from; less crowded, not as well lit. Probably a good place to hide, you think, as you turn back to face Raven.

“You're very secretive. I'm guessing you investigate people for a living. Or something like that.”

She grins. “Or something like that.”

Reaching into a cupboard, she retrieves a bottle of wine and two glasses. By the time she joins you by the window, handing you a glass, you've made a list of at least ten possible things she could work with and you know it won't leave you alone until you've figured it out.

But for now, her darkening eyes as you raise your glass and lick your lips distract you from your musings.

 _God, she's beautiful_.

“So if you won't tell me anything about yourself”, you say, “then why aren't we already in bed?”

She smiles suggestively, “I enjoy the anticipation”.

She takes a sip of wine before putting the glass down. You do the same as she closes in on you, and then she is pulling you towards her by the waist. Your body hums when your lips meet, feeding the desire that has flared since you first laid eyes on her. You press your hips against hers and leave her lips to kiss a path down her neck, your tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin there. She moans and her hands fall down to cup your ass, and you're pretty sure it hasn't felt _this_ good to be with someone in a while.

You suddenly want to have her naked right there in front of the window, the diffuse light of the city playing over her skin and your fingers buried inside of her. You take hold of her shoulders then, turning her around, pinning her between your body and the window. She stiffens and you're pretty sure she would have tried to resist had you not taken her by surprise. The thought sends a pang of want through your body, and you let out a breath, amused at your predictable response to the promise of a power struggle. But you're not alone in that reaction, it appears, as Raven breathes heavier, leaning into your urgent ministrations as you struggle with the zipper of her dress.

When it finally opens, you mouth a silent thank you in the general direction of the night sky, before pushing the dress from Raven's shoulders. Your hands follow its decent, caressing the naked shoulders and back before dipping around to her stomach, nails raking over the taut muscles you find there. She shivers at the touch, a quiet moan escaping her lips. She feels strong and soft in your arms, and you _need_ her.

Your hands soon find their way to her breasts and as your thumbs graze the hardening nipples, a breathless “Zoe...” spills from her lips.

You love the way she says your name.

And your knees almost give away when your fingers dip into her lace panties and feel the wetness you caused, heat rushing to your cheeks when she moans louder at the contact.

You stroke her softly with two fingers while your other hand palms her breast. Her breaths come in gasps and the sound washes over your skin. You're about to slip a finger inside of her when she suddenly whips around, grabbing hold of your wrists as she growls, “Bedroom.”

Her pupils are dilated, cheeks flushed, and she stares at you like you're everything she needs.

You draw in a shaky breath and nod. “Lead the way.”

* * *

The bed is large, soft and has way too many pillows. Raven tries to sweep some of them to the floor while she pushes you down beneath her but you still end up with three under your back and you would have laughed if you weren't so turned on. Instead, you try to pull them out and throw them aside while Raven tries to pin you down to the mattress. It becomes a game, a struggle that is sure to leave matching bruises on your hips and her forearms. You shiver as her nails dig into your skin and you keep fighting her even when there are no more pillows to throw away.

She sucks at your neck and you sink deeper into the need rushing through your veins and all you can think about is her skin on yours –

“Raven”, you eventually breathe, pushing her gently away from you. At first she thinks it's part of the game, struggling against it, but as you repeat her name she pulls back a little, searching your eyes.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes”, you manage to get out, even though you have no idea how talking can work when you're _so out of control_ , “but my dress needs to go”.

At this she smiles way too smugly for your liking but you're too far gone to be ashamed of how desperate you are for her to touch you.

She pulls you with her into a sitting position and you're eternally grateful for the elastic material of your dress when her hands slip underneath and pull it over your head in one swift movement.

You feel exposed and bold as she openly admires your body, humming in appreciation. And then you're lying flush against the mattress, arms pinned above your head, Raven's lips on yours, and you have no idea how she pushed you down so quickly.

And when she enters you with two fingers, you stop thinking all together.

* * *

You're embarrassingly wet and she's fucking you hard with three fingers, the bed is creaking and you have completely lost yourself in the scent of her skin and hair.

She is rubbing herself against your thigh, sliding easily as her wetness coats your skin. In the end it's the sounds she makes that send you over the edge, and it's the feeling of her shuddering against you just after you do, that keeps you there, shaking and moaning as the orgasm spreads trough your body. Her teeth sink into your shoulder as she rides out her own, a strangled “ _fuck_...” escaping her lips.

Afterwards, you're pretty sure that you will never be able to move again. 

* * *

You wake to the hint of dawn outside, the faint light not necessary for you to know that she is gone. This wouldn't surprise you if it weren't for the fact that you're in her apartment, not the other way around. Sitting up slowly to look for clues (and oh, you're sore in the most delicious way), you spot a note on the bedside table. The writing is elegant, just like everything about Raven.

 

_Zoe,_

_Had to leave for the airport. There's coffee in the kitchen and fresh towels in the bathroom. Stay as long as you like._

_I had a wonderful time._

_Raven_

 

You allow an irrational pang of disappointment at the lack of phone number, but quickly chide yourself for it. There was nothing to suggest that this would be more than a one time thing.

You wouldn't have minded, though.

  


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, fate seems determined to make it more than a one-time thing.

The next time you see Raven, you're sitting at the gate of an LA flight, going over a client's financials on our laptop. You don't normally agree to meet outside of the city but this time the client's attempt to flee the scene coincided nicely with the wedding of one of your old friends, and you decided to make an exception.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of someone walking quickly to the counter. The sound of heels against the linoleum floor, a flash of dark hair, and you think nothing more of it until the agitated voice of the person drifts over to where you're sitting.

“I understand that but it's an _emergency_. I know for a fact that you're keeping a few seats for emergencies on these flights. That's why I fly with your airline.”

The last part is said in a somewhat friendlier tone, and even though it's far from the sultry voice you're intimately familiar with, you recognise it. Glancing up from the screen, you're still hit with a pang of surprise when you see Raven tapping her fingers absently at the counter while the clerk makes a call. Raven is dressed in an elegant grey suit; a dress jacket and a short skirt over thin tights and high-heeled boots. You swallow as images of your night together inevitably flood your brain.

You're suddenly very aware of your relatively casual appearance; skinny jeans, pumps, a sheer white top under a loose-fitting cardigan. You're wearing reading glasses and scold yourself for thinking about taking them off. This is ridiculous. You're a very grownup grownup, thank you very much, and you won't be fazed by unexpectedly seeing someone you casually slept with.

But when the clerk hands Raven a boarding pass and the young woman turns around to scan the area for a seat, it feels like your heart is going a thousand beats per minute. And when your eyes meet, recognition dawning on her features and a small smirk playing on her lips, you admit to yourself that there's something about this woman that makes you feel like one night definitely wasn't enough.

She walks over to you, an easy smile on her face, as if she isn't thinking about how it felt to have her fingers inside of you -

(You certainly aren't.)

“Zoe”, she says, coming to a stop in front of you.

“Raven”, you husk out, thankful that your voice at least sounds sure of itself.

“May I join you?”

You smile at her, the simple question somehow making you feel more at ease.

“Why of course. We're at an airport and you're not even a stranger.” You raise your eyebrows pointedly and smile when her cheeks color slightly. You immediately feel more in control of yourself.

She takes a seat next to you and you close your laptop, giving her your full attention.

“I hope the emergency isn't anything serious. I couldn't help overhearing.”

“Oh no. It's just a last minute work thing. But you need to sound like it's the most important thing in the world to get the best service.” She winks at you and you chuckle in response.

“How about you? Business or pleasure?”

You force your thoughts away from the adolescent reaction you have to the way her lips curl around the word 'pleasure' and reply,

“Both, actually. A wedding and a work meeting in the city.”

“Ah, nice.”

She picks up a water bottle from her bag and takes a sip before casually adding,

“You got any downtime while you're there?”

You meet her eyes, trying to gauge if she's asking what you think she's asking. Her face is open, eyes twinkling, but you catch a glimpse of uncertainty in them. Chest thickening with something you can't quite identify, you reply,

“I might.” Making your mind up, you continue, “The meeting is tomorrow over lunch but after that I'm free all night.”

Your cheeks flush when you realise what you openly implied. She seems to realise it too because the confident smirk is back, eyebrows rising as she leans in closer to you.

“Is that an invitation?”

You throw caution to the wind.

“I believe it is.”

You smile at each other then, Raven's happy face ridiculously breathtaking, and your heart skips a beat. 

This is probably bad.

“Dinner?”, she asks.

 _Oh_.

You smile wider, pushing back the mild concern that comes with the realisation that you really want to say yes.

“Sure. I know a great sushi place if that's something you'd like?”

“I love sushi.”

Of course she does.

“Perfect. I'll text you the address.”

Raven looks at you knowingly. “You don't have my number.”

“I know. I don't have your last name either. That's usually the minimum amount of info I want before going to dinner with someone.”

“Mhm”, she looks at you, apparently amused.

You go on, “Well that and knowing they aren't a serial killer. But I'm willing to take my chances with you considering I'm still alive.”

The call for priority boarding goes out just as Raven chuckles and reaches into her bag for a notebook and pen before saying seriously,

“Killing you would be a terrible crime.”

You watch her face go from sombre to cracking up at the obviously unintentional and terribly bad pun. As you laugh together, you feel the tension between the two of you mingle with something warm.

She writes down her name and number and hands it to you before getting up.

“See you on the west coast, Miss Morgan.”

Looking back at you, she adds, “You look hot in those glasses, by the way.”

You roll your eyes at her.

“Bye, Raven.”

Yes, definitely bad.

* * *

Los Angeles is exceptionally hot, and despite the thin dress you wore to your business meeting, your skin is clammy by the time you get back to the hotel room. You quickly undress, walking naked into the bathroom. When cold water has sprayed over your skin for a while, taking the edge off the heat, your thoughts return to Raven. A rush of anticipation follows as you think about seeing her and, admittedly, _touching_ her again.

You step out of the shower, wrap yourself in a towel and pad out to the minibar to get a water bottle. The street outside is bustling with activity despite the unforgiving sunshine. How does everyone look so unbothered by it? You shake your head, glad no one can hear your thoughts. It won't do to be bested by this dry heat when you come from the humid summer of New York City. It would be embarrassing. You take your phone and stretch out on the bed. Biting your lower lip thoughtfully, you text Raven the address to the restaurant and suggest a time. She texts back almost immediately and you grin stupidly at the screen. You agree to start with a drink at a bar nearby before putting the phone away, pondering the fascinatingly contradictory mix of confidence and eagerness in the young woman.

Then, you think about why you're thinking about that at all. It will just be a two-time thing, after all.

With dinner, the back of your mind insists.

* * *

She's sitting at the bar when you arrive and _oh_ _god_ she's wearing black slacks and a vest and you can't decide which you like her better in between this and the dress. She hasn't seen you yet and you use the time walking up to her to push down the uncharacteristic nervousness you feel fluttering in your stomach. You're used to having men practically begging at your feet, most of them eagerly following your lead. But this is different. Raven is much like you, perhaps too much, and last time she effortlessly turned the tables on you.

It surprised you how much you enjoyed that.

You slide onto the stool next to her and she turns her head. You see more than hear her breathe in as she looks you over, eyes deliberately trailing over your strapless red dress and bare legs. Your skin heats up under her gaze.

“Careful, I just managed to cool off.” The words escape you unedited.

She runs a hand through her hair, licking her lips. “Hot and bothered already?”

You smirk, “By the weather mostly”.

The bartender chooses that moment to appear and you order a drink. Then, in an attempt at conversation that isn't dripping with intent, you ask,

“Had a good day?”

“Nothing special. Met some people for work, went shopping, had a few cold showers.”

You grin. “Hot and bothered, huh?”

She glances at you, “Severely.”

You end up discussing your shared distaste for hot temperatures and from there the conversation flows freely from topic to topic. You start to relax.

You move to the restaurant and she tells you about growing up in Texas and moving to New York for her last year of high school while enrolling in a few college courses. She pursued a master's degree in economy directly after that, while working at a bank. Her story makes you realise how very young she is. You also realise that this doesn't bother you nearly as much as it probably should.

“So are you still working in that field?”

She smiles secretively, “In a sense. I'm freelancing as an economical advisor.” After a sip of wine, she adds, “among other things.”

You shake your head, equal parts amused and frustrated at her vague answer. “Are you worried that I'll steal your clients? I have more than enough as it is.”

“Not at all. But part of my service is complete discretion. And even though I'm inclined to trust you, I do know that some information is just too good not to act upon.”

You stare at her. “And that's supposed to make me less interested?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, “Not in me.”

And just like that she has you laughing and trading innuendos again and your hint of frustration is still there but you're also impressed by her strong work ethic. She smoothly steers the conversation away from the topic and even though you're well aware of this, you let her.

Because you'll eventually find out what she does through your extensive social network, your head insists.

( _Because at the moment your thoughts are far from professional_ , your body whispers.)

Later, you tell her about being born and raised in New York, the scandal surrounding your father and how it made you into the person you are now.

And somewhere between the main course and dessert, you look at her wildly gesticulating hands as she tells you about her passion for human behaviour, and your mind touches upon the thought that all of this feels very much like a date.

 _That_ bothers you because you're pretty sure that it isn't.

(And maybe – if you peek under the red flags that go up every time someone manages to get under your skin – you wouldn't mind if it were.)

* * *

The sense of déjà vu that accompanies your clinking glasses of red wine adds to the ache that is starting to build deliciously between your legs. You sit together on the couch in your hotel room, light conversation slowly giving way to lingering glances and deliberate gestures. Raven licks her lips as she leans in closer to you, probably listening more to the slight hitch in your voice at the sight, than your actual words.

You decide that the time for talking is over and finish your wine with a long sip.

“There's a jacuzzi in the bathroom.”

Raven looks pleasantly surprised.

“Are you telling me this because you have a deep fascination for them or because you wanna get naked?”

In response, you get up from the couch, reaching behind your back to unzip your dress. You move to stand in between her legs and the dress slips conveniently down to the floor.

She puts her hands on your hips, pulling slightly as she looks up at you, the heated gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

“You're so fucking gorgeous, Zoe.”

Your body is hyper aware of how close you are to her, naked legs brushing against the thin material of her pants. You use the rush the compliment gives you to resist her pulling, leaning back into her hands as they come down to slide over your barely covered buttocks. You close your eyes for a moment at the sensation.

Then, stepping away without warning and smiling suggestively at her, you turn and walk into the bathroom.

Turning the water on, you pour a few drops of a scented oil you find on the edge of the tub into it. You take off your bra, dropping it carelessly on the floor, and turn around when you hear movement behind you.

That didn't take long.

Raven is standing in the doorway, lips slightly parted as her eyes rake over your mostly naked body.

You swallow hard, already imagining her wet skin sliding against yours.

“You're overdressed.”

She smirks in response and starts unbuttoning her vest, revealing a black lace bra. You feel desire flaring as she reaches into it, fingers raking over a nipple. She unbuttons her pants and drops them to the floor, the silky material pooling around her ankles, and you're pretty sure you just let out a low moan.

She walks up to you, so close that you can feel her breath on your skin when she says, “Better?”

“Almost”, you reply huskily before reaching back to unclasp her bra.

You pull it off, hands and mouth replacing the fabric as you caress her breasts. You touch and taste and revel in the gasps that escape her. Her hands tangle in your hair, trailing over the back of your neck, and it's suddenly too gentle for you to be comfortable. So you bite at her nipple, and she hisses out a moan, fingers grasping painfully at your hips.

 _Yes_.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never...*glares at muse*

The next morning you have breakfast together, and if the intimate act of sharing a bed wasn't enough, sharing another meal definitely makes it feel like this is dangerously close to becoming a multiple-time thing. Her lingering gaze and small smiles fill you with a warmth that causes all your internal alarm bells to go off in a cacophony of pull back’s and stop before’s. But they somehow don’t prevent you from leaning in to lick away the small drop of jam at the side of Raven’s mouth. In the end, all thoughts of breakfast quickly vanish in the feeling of Raven's tongue circling around your own, and the silk of her hair as you pull her closer.

It's a wonder, really, that you make it to the wedding in time.

* * *

Two weeks later, you’ve given up on trying to keep Raven from your thoughts. Actively not thinking about her is rather counterproductive anyway, you reason. You haven’t seen her since LA, and you’ve decided that you probably shouldn’t see her again at all. You are busy with several clients, but vivid images of Raven ghost through your mind at every opportunity, leaving you distracted and aching. You can’t afford to be distracted in your work so you triple your efforts, your caffeine intake, and your engagement with the people around you. You keep your mind busy to avoid being alone with yourself.

At night, though, every shift of your body against satin sheets is a caress from confident hands. The slight weight of the duvet is a body barely touching yours, teasing, an excruciating play of minds and needs. You wake shivering and wet, hair clinging to your temple as you catch your breath. You start your days with a cold, unforgiving shower and start over with the coffee, with the engagement, dressing in the confident persona of togetherness and purpose, not a shiver in sight.

After almost a week of this, you’re exhausted, and finally – mercifully – get a good night’s sleep.

The next day you sit at a conference table next to your client, who until recently was a respected senior partner in a pharmaceutical company. He has been accused of fraud, diluting medicines with filler substances. He has confessed it all to you, of course (they always do after a scotch and a pat on the arm), and you’re here to smooth things over. You start mediating, emphasising the word ”accident” several times, and expect things to go as they normally do – your way. But your client keeps talking too much, and keeps insisting that he was ordered from above to dilute the pills. It’s not until you hear the words ”that young woman advisor you have, the one with the long legs and dark hair. Fine ass too if you ask me”, that you really start listening to him. Something about the image his description conjures in your mind is far too familiar. You shrug it off, annoyed; of course even a vague, sexist description of a woman you’ve never met makes you think of _her_. You need to get yourself together.

Your client’s boss angrily retorts, ”Savannah would never suggest anything like that. She is deeply committed to the ethics of our company.”

You study him closely, something about the way he delivered the line slightly off, as if it was rehearsed.

”Has she been with you long?”, you ask, giving him your full attention.

”A month or so”, he gruffs out. ”I hired her temporarily to get a few new products out on the market.”

”I see”, you say, taking a sip of coffee. ”Now, is there any way that this Miss Savannah could possibly have acted, with the best intentions I’m sure, without consulting you?”

”Absolutely not.”

Your client draws in a breath as if to say something, and you put your hand firmly on his arm to shut him up. ”Because it seems to me that, if not a deliberate ruse, there may have been a misunderstanding. Clearly, Mr Scheer here acted after what he believed were this woman’s explicit instructions. What possible motive could he have had for deceiving you? He is about to retire and a scandal like this wouldn’t secure him and his wife their annual trips to Florida…”

Mr Scheer nods vigorously, his toupee sliding slightly to the side.

An hour later you leave the room victorious – you convinced the boss to only deduct a small portion of your client’s generous pension, and you didn’t think about Raven for sixty whole minutes.

If celebrating this by texting said woman is a questionable move, you decide to ignore it.

(One step forward, two steps back.)

* * *

Your back arches and a loud “fuuuuuuck” falls from your lips when you come, body convulsing as you rub yourself unabashedly against Raven’s mouth. A smile is evident in the younger woman’s hum as you calm down, heavy limbs falling haphazardly to the bed. You try to speak, but all you manage is a hum in return. Raven laughs, sending another tremor through your body.

She could ask you anything right now, and you’d probably do it, you think. This alarming thought sobers you up a little and you open your eyes, looking down at her where she rests her face against your thigh. She’s a mess of wild hair and swollen lips, and you swallow so hard it hurts. Your heart is still beating fast, and your mind is delightfully – frighteningly – blank, except for the thought that you haven’t needed anyone like you need her in a very long time. She smirks as if she knows this, and you blush, but you can’t be bothered to be faux annoyed at her brashness any longer (especially not when it makes you forget how scared you are of being overcome by this jumble of emotion she causes in you).

“Come here,” you husk out, and the way her body moulds against yours is nothing like the light touch of bed sheets, but everything like the ball of desire that flared deep inside you when you woke up this morning.

You’re met with little resistance as you nudge her over to lie on her back. Your hands trace invisible paths down her throat and breasts; they glide greedily over her stomach and hips and she gasps at the contact, pulling you down for a deep kiss as your fingers slip inside.

You are reminded of the first time you did this, and almost still your movements as the stark difference between then and now hits you square in the chest.

You fuck her harder to expel some of the gentleness you feel.

* * *

You meet her irregularly; sometimes several times a week, sometimes there is a month in between and you barely make it to the hotel room. She texts you sometimes, silly memes or random observations. They always make you smile, but you make sure not to text back immediately. Sometimes you think about texting her to say good night, but it seems like crossing a line somehow, and you’re very happy about your current arrangement.

You go to the opera one night, and you touch her right there in the stands, your hand buried deep under her blue velvet dress, some particularly high notes covering the single moan that Raven can’t contain when she comes.

Another time she walks into the bedroom of her work apartment wearing nothing but a strap-on, and heat rushes to your cheeks. She grins and stops right in front of where you're sitting on the bed, wrapped in a towel and hair still wet from a shower. Her cheeks are flushed, too. Filled with sudden, wicked inspiration, you pull her down to sit on the bed while you fall to your knees between her legs. She bites her lip when you take the toy into your mouth, reaching for its base and moving it slowly against her. She moans in response and looks down at you, transfixed, her arousal dripping over your fingers. You feel a rush of power even though you’re the one on your knees.

You fall into an odd sort of routine with her that fits almost too well into your life. You know how she likes her coffee, but usually can’t say what city she is in at any given moment. She knows every mark on your body, your shoe size (it’s the same as hers), but she doesn’t know that you’re visiting your mother for the weekend. You haven't been to each other’s private apartments, an unspoken agreement to keep your meetings impersonal and separate hovering around your texts and occasional calls. You make tentative plans and when they work out you wake up excited and full of energy, and can’t remember the last time you felt so alive.

As the weeks go by, you slowly let your guard down (even though you sometimes pretend you’re still in control and it’s just about sex, thank you very much), and perhaps it’s because of this that it takes you several long seconds to recover from the shock that awaits when you walk into your next meeting, meticulously on time as always and dressed in your signature red coat.

Raven is sitting at the table. She looks up briefly from her laptop when you walk in, an indifferent expression on her face. Wearing an elegant black suit over a dark purple shirt, her hair gathered in a strict ponytail, she looks more collected than you can ever remember seeing her. (To be fair, you’ve mostly seen her without any clothes at all). You have the distinct feeling that the walls of the room are closing in when you place your small leather briefcase on the table and greet your client. You’re too busy schooling your features to notice if she is surprised, too, and it’s not until you’re finally able to meet her eyes for more than a second that you see the odd mix of emotions swirling in their depths, the only indication that she is remotely affected by your presence.

Overlap in clientele, indeed.

Raven reaches out to shake your hand across the table, and you automatically take it, feeling oddly numb when she says in way of greeting,

“Erica Lamberton, Mr Weisenberg Jr’s economical advisor.”

You keep your features neutral and introduce yourself, but it doesn’t take long before your surprise morphs into stinging irritation. You never explicitly try to hide who you're working with; surely Raven would have known beforehand that the two of you would meet today. And yet she didn’t mention it when you met just two days ago.

You know it’s a terrible idea even before the words are half-way out of your mouth, but it’s too late and you’re honestly done with her secrecy now that she has intruded in your affairs.

“Have we met before, Miss Lamberton? You seem familiar.”

A slight rising of eyebrows is the only sign of surprise Raven, or whatever her name is, shows. Her voice is pleasant when she replies,

“Only in passing, I believe, at some function or another.”

You tilt your head, pretending to think, and take far too much pleasure in the slight tightening of her jaw. You push further,

“I'm sure it was in a different context, but I can’t for the life of me remember...” You deliberately trail off, drawing out the moment.

Your client and his son look back and forth between the two of you in confusion. Raven clears her throat, a subtle rising of her chin clearly telling you to back off.

She says curtly, “Well, perhaps we’ll remember later. In the meantime I suggest we start on the matter at hand.”

The tension is palpable as she holds your gaze, neither of you wanting to be the first to look away.

“Very well then,” you say at last, telling yourself that you didn’t lose this particular battle - you’re just being the bigger person. “Mr Weisenberg, your father owns the company. You have no legal rights at the present time, and despite your father’s unfortunate actions, I believe we can come to an understanding...”

“Actually...” Raven interrupts, and then she presents a long and well-founded argument that invalidates the angle you were planning to go for. You’re impressed, and grit your teeth against the feeling. Fine. If she wants to play this game with you, you’re going to make damn sure that she’ll think twice before trying it again. You take a deep breath, remove your coat (you feel her eyes on your exposed skin), and take a sip of water.

During the next two hours, you and Raven heatedly but professionally argue the case. At some point during this time, she removes her jacket and unbuttons another button in her shirt, and your eyes flash dangerously in response. In the end, her chest and cheeks are flushed, eyes alight with something you’d rather not examine closer, and it’s difficult to say who got the better deal. But you’re unfortunately very aware of the fact that the discussion has left you more frustrated and definitely more turned on than you’ve ever been at the end of a workday. As a throat clears to the right, you also realise that the two men in the room sat transfixed during the discussion, neither uttering a word.

You share a look with Raven, and want to laugh before remembering that you're supposed to be mad at her.

You're not exactly surprised at how good she is, because you've learned that Raven is a person that excels at most things she does. But you're still impressed despite trying not to be, and despite trying to be mad, which you also are. Even though you've actually worked with the woman now, you are left with more questions than before. Questions that she’ll undoubtedly try to dodge.

“It was nice to meet you again, Miss Morgan”, Raven says cheekily as you wrap up the meeting.

“Pleasure,” you reply with a fake smile, body humming just from hearing her say your name.

Afterwards you go to the bathroom, and when you get back to the elevator you're not surprised to find her waiting. What you are, however, is tense with frustration and want, unable to say where one ends and the other starts. She looks slightly uncomfortable now, and meets your eyes tentatively.

“Zoe, I…”

(She needs to stop saying your name.)

“Don't.”

The elevator pings and when the doors open you quickly enter. Your hands are shaking.

Raven is still standing outside, clearly unsure if she should follow.

“Get in,” you say in a low voice you barely recognise as your own.

She complies, and you think it might actually take five minutes until the doors close. An hour until you have her pressed up against the large mirror and you're kissing each other like you both might die if you don’t. A day before you frantically unbutton her pants and find the wetness between her legs, her nails digging into your arm as she struggles to stay upright. A month before she gasps and clenches hard around your fingers between the 7th and 6th floors, and you moan into her mouth.

When the doors open to the lobby, you’re standing at a respectable distance and she has managed to button her pants. Her chest is heaving, your fingers are sticky, and she stares at you with wide eyes.

You take another look at her, and utter the first and last words you say to her in the elevator.

“Goodbye, Raven.”

 


End file.
